Off to the Orphanage

Greetings Relatives,

So Mum decided to put us kids in St. Charles Catholic Orphanage in Rochester, New Hampshire while she was sick. We stayed there about 2.5 years (1957-1959). My sister was put into the building for girls and my brother was put on a different floor of the boy’s dorm. I never really got to see either of them very much.

Now, you have to think about this for a little while. I was a five year old kid. My dad had died a couple years earlier, we had moved away from the only relatives I knew in Oregon, our relatives in New England were either unable or unwilling to care for us, Mum was sick and gone, and I had been placed in a prison-like facility separated from my brother and sister. To make matters worse it was run by very strict, abusive, and vindictive nuns.

We went to school; I was in Kindergarten at the time. One day my teacher, a Catholic nun, was talking about the American Indians. She was saying they were murderous, heathen savages. I raised my hand and told her, “That’s not what my mother taught me – she says they were nice people who were only trying to protect their families.” Well she came over with her ruler and proceeded to hit my hand with the metal edge. I was bleeding profusely from the many wounds she inflicted upon me. I bit her as hard as I could and ran away, having to jump the fence in the process. I ran several blocks away when a police picked me up. I remember begging him not to take me back to the orphanage – showing him my bloody hands and blood-soaked shirt. This was back in the 1950s when there was no real child protective service. I’m sure the policeman had no idea what to do with me, so he took me back to the orphanage.

This same sequence of events happened numerous times. I was beaten each time I corrected the nuns as to the true nature of my Indian ancestors. But I always stood my ground even knowing I was going to be beaten. To this day, 46 years later, I can still look at the scars on my hands and remember the abuse inflicted upon me - just because I was an Indian.

It was at this time that I had my first vision. In my vision a Red-Tailed Hawk visited me. It represented a symbol of strength and protection and gave me the ability to survive this horrible experience. It visited me several times while I was at the orphanage. I honestly believe if the Hawk had not come to me I would not have survived this time of my life, or if I did I would have been really messed-up emotionally without that strength he gave me.

Well, that’s the end of this installment.

Walk in Peace,
Steve

Copyright © 1995-2008 Stephen L. Miller